


I'm Into Something Good

by fleurofthecourt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ben Braeden is Dean Winchester's Son, Domestic, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Matchmaking, Nanny Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean accidentally stumbles into a nanny interview, he and Ben move in with Castiel and his nieces. Shortly after, everyone he knows is trying to play matchmaker -- the kids, the previous nanny, the butler, maybe even his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [VampirePam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePam/pseuds/VampirePam) for her many suggestions for this fic. 
> 
> A lot of this, premise-wise, is heavily based on _The Nanny_ \-- 90s sitcom with Fran Drescher. If you haven't seen it, get on that stat [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YVYHdVz-G2g).

_Guess everyone needs a cable guy,_ Dean thought with a shrug as he double checked the address on his appointment slip against that of the veritable mansion before him. For all he knew, he was going to be visiting solely the waspy and well-to-do from here on out. He didn’t know. He’d only been a cable guy for a couple of hours. 

So far, it didn’t seem like a terrible gig -- testy, underfoot customers and dogs that almost definitely had bites worse than their barks aside. Not what he wanted to do, perhaps, but he’d pretty much blown the good thing he had going at the garage. Not that that had definitely been the right job either; simply the one he’d always had, and, more importantly, the one he’d needed. Just like he needed this one now. 

So he pulled himself out of the infernal company van and onto the lengthy driveway. He threw the replacement cable box under his arm and trudged up the walkway to the pale blue double doors. 

He rang the doorbell twice to no response. So digging his hands into his pockets, he began scanning the area to see if he was being stood up. There were lights on in the upstairs’ windows and a Lincoln, which Dean thought would be better off in a junkyard, poking out of the open garage. It certainly didn’t appear deserted. 

With an annoyed huff, he started to dig out his cell phone only for his attention to be drawn back to the house as the door minutely cracked ajar. 

Whatever his expectations had been, they were not met. 

A little girl, no more than five or six, stood clutching a one legged plastic doll in one hand and the doll’s missing leg in the other. There were tear tracks running down both her cheeks, and Dean took a stab in the dark that it was about the doll. “Your doll there need patched up?” 

She furrowed her brow slightly. Then, in a hesitant whisper, she asked, “Are you a doll doctor?” 

“Guess I am today,” Dean said as he set the cable box down on a table in the entryway. “Let me see her.” 

“Her name’s Joan,” she said, warily handing the doll to Dean before rubbing at her eyes. “She’s a warrior.” 

“That right? Well, what kind of monster broke her leg?” Dean asked as he jabbed the leg back into its socket. 

“The demons in Crowley’s room,” she said.

Dean quirked an eye as he tested Joan’s leg. “Demons?” 

“They’re everywhere,” she said tonelessly. “Along the walls. Under the bed. In the closet.” 

“Right then,” Dean said, suddenly feeling like he needed to sidestep stumbling into a creepy child horror movie. “Well, Joan here’s all set. So she can get back to ganking them.” 

The edges of her lips tugged upwards as Dean handed her the doll back. Then she said very solemnly, “They’re not real demons. They’re make believe.” 

“Good, I was worried.” Dean said lightly before deciding to gauge whether anyone more than three feet tall was there. “So, uh, was your mom or dad around for the, uh... showdown?”

“No. My parents are dead,” she said easily as though unperturbed by the punch to the gut she’d just given Dean. 

He therefore assumed this was ancient news, which was just as well. He really wasn’t up for a chat about her apparently being an orphan. He’d been around that block too many times himself. “Uh...okay. Someone else around?... Crowley?”

“It’s his day off,” she said. 

“His day off? What is he, your maid?” Dean asked. 

“The butler,” she said. 

“Girl’s got a butler but no babysitter,” Dean muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Okay, but you’re not here all by yourself, right?”

“No, Uncle Castiel is in the shower,” she said. 

Dean blanched, knowing for a fact that that was code for an adult being MIA. He’d used it himself plenty when his dad had still, more or less, been in the picture. He rubbed a hand down his face wondering what, if anything, he should do. Nothing yet, he decided. She could be telling the truth. 

Luckily, she was. 

“You’re an hour early,” a surprisingly deep and definitely adult voice said from somewhere to Dean’s right, “and it seems you’ve already met one of my nieces.” 

Pointing out that he was, in fact, running a good thirty minutes behind schedule -- and probably more so now that he’d played babysitter instead of doing his actual work -- was on the tip of Dean’s tongue until he looked up. Afterwards, he couldn’t remember anything he was planning to say. 

He wasn’t sure what the most distracting thing was. 

Actually, that was a complete lie. 

It was definitely that the guy was running a towel over shower damp hair, seemingly unconcerned that his completely unbuttoned shirt was revealing some very well-toned stomach muscles. That alone was enough to leave Dean gaping.

The rest of his ensemble, however, likely would have left someone who wasn’t slightly turned on gawking. Trench coats weren’t exactly the style norm outside of film noir, and Dean didn’t even know where to start with the backwards, crooked tie. 

He mentally kicked himself for all out staring since it was probably why the guy’s piercing blue eyes were now boring into him expectantly. Or maybe it was because the guy had said something. Right. “Yeah. Seems like a good kid. So...uh, you’re Castiel, huh? Well, what am I looking at?” 

“Just a moment. Grace, would you please go play upstairs?” Castiel said. The little girl nodded before beginning to traipse up the steps, grinning warmly at her doll. Once she was nearly to the top, Castiel turned back to Dean. “Now, follow me.” 

“You know, she could have stayed, right?” Dean said. “I don’t mind kids.” 

“I would certainly hope not,” Castiel said pointedly, squinting slightly. He folded his towel before setting it neatly on the foot of the steps. “However, I think her staying would have been less than professional.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean muttered with a shrug, unsure how the kid being there affected his professionalism anymore than his jeans and flannel. “Makes total sense.”

Nevertheless, he followed Castiel into an ornately furnished, formidable seeming sitting room, with a wall to wall stone fireplace but, as far as Dean could tell, no television. Castiel, who had regrettably buttoned his shirt, took one of the armchairs in the room’s far corner, shrugged off his overcoat, and gestured for Dean to sit opposite him. 

Dean surveyed the room again before taking the offered chair. Then he leaned forward and rested a hand on the armrest of Castiel’s. “You know, usually when you call the cable guy, it’s so he can fix up the TV, not have a cozy chat by the fire.” 

Castiel raised his head slightly. “You’re not here for the nanny interview?” 

“Uh... no. Just the boob tube,” Dean said. Then, as he took in Castiel’s downcast eyes, he asked, “Did you want me to be?” 

“Yes, actually,” Castiel said. Dean grinned, glad he could make a good first impression in five sentences or less. Obviously, he was just awesome. 

“It has been difficult to find an applicant interested in having the position for more than a year. I thought that since you were older than most of them, you might be. Hiring a new one annually is tiresome.” 

So it had nothing to do with him, just his age. Well, so much for his self-esteem for the day. Dean rolled his eyes. 

Castiel sighed as he stood up. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr...?” 

“Dean’s fine,” Dean said. 

“Dean, then. I’m afraid Mr. Crowley, my butler, must have called for the cable company and not informed me. He can be rather unthoughtful that way. I was unaware the television wasn’t working; I rarely watch it. I’ll show you where it is.” 

As they walked back through the entryway, Dean sheepishly scooped up the replacement cable box from where he’d left it in the foyer. “Well, this probably would have cleared that up faster, huh?” 

“Perhaps,” Castiel said, as he shifted his overcoat from one arm to the other. 

“You expecting a cold front in the den or something?” Dean asked. 

Castiel tilted his head slightly, looking perplexed. Dean smiled slightly before gesturing at the coat. 

“Oh. Sort of. The air conditioning has not been working properly.” 

“The whole place falling apart on you, huh?” Dean asked with a smirk. 

“I hardly think two devices malfunctioning indicates that,” Castiel said. 

“No one ever tell you things break in threes?” Dean asked. 

“It’s not an expression I’ve heard before,” Castiel said. “But then, I haven’t heard many. I’ve been told that I, uh, ‘live under a rock’?” 

The last part is said with such hesitancy and question, like Castiel really has never strung those words together before that Dean can’t help himself. He just starts laughing and shaking his head. 

“I don’t understand why that’s funny,” Castiel said. 

“That’s it right there, Cas,” Dean said clapping his hand over his shoulder. “That’s it right there. Now where’s your TV?” 

Castiel led him into a room that was considerably smaller than the sitting room but seemed much more inviting and casual. The television stood prominently in the middle of the back wall. Dean, knowing that he was definitely running further behind schedule now, went straight to work. 

He began to untangle the TV’s mess of wires before noticing that Castiel was watching him intently. He wasn’t the first to watch Dean work, but this felt different than the eleven year old who’d been anxious to get back to her cartoons and the nurse that had seemed anxious to grab his ass. 

Castiel simply watched. It was kind of strange, but Dean had already figured out that the guy was strange. 

Really, he wasn’t all that surprised that Castiel stood quietly for the whole ten minutes it took for him to switch out the old box for the new one, go through the cable’s reboot system, and dig the remote out of the couch. 

Once he was done, he handed the remote to Cas. “Well, give it a whirl.” 

Castiel turned the TV on, and Dean smiled goofily at the opening credits of his favorite telenovela before realizing that another human being was, in fact, in the room with him. He flinched slightly, but Castiel looked completely unphased. 

“Dean, do you have any experience with children?” Castiel asked, eyes still on the television. 

That was unexpected, but Dean decided to roll with it. “Well, I do have one. Ben’s ten.” 

“That would complicate things,” Castiel said. Then after a contemplative pause, he continued, “Do you have any other experience?” 

“I, uh, I practically raised Sammy, my kid brother,” Dean said. “‘Course, he’s not really a kid so much as a giant now. Even has his own little tyke. Sammy Jr.”

“And you’ve watched him?” Castiel asked. 

“Once or twice. The munchkin’s not even three months old,” Dean said. “Of course, I had to go save Sammy’s ass the first time Jess left him alone with the kid.” 

“How did you ‘save his ass’?” Castiel asked. 

Dean bit his tongue against laughing at the way Castiel said ‘ass.’ “Told him to stop freaking out, mostly. Oh, and bought him a new pack of pacifiers because he somehow managed to lose all the ones he had.” 

“Have you ever thought about being a nanny?” Castiel asked. 

“You mean before right now?” Dean asked. 

“Obviously,” Castiel said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, I’ve never exactly dreamed about flying off with Mary Poppin’s umbrella, but I always thought she was kind of a cool lady,” Dean said, internally wincing that he’d just admitted that. 

Castiel was unphased. “Who is Mary Poppins?” 

“Who is Mary Poppins?” Dean echoed. “You’ve got a five year old girl here, and you don’t know that? You need help, man.” 

“She’s six,” Castiel countered, “and I am looking for help.” 

“Not that kind of help,” Dean said. 

“What kind then?” Castiel asked, oblivious to the point Dean was trying to make. 

“Disney therapy? I don’t know. I really can’t play 20 questions with you right now. I’ve got to get back to it,” Dean said packing up the old cable box. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder to stop him from leaving the room. “I would like you to be the new nanny.” 

“You barely asked me five questions, Cas,” Dean said. “You know I’m not qualified.” 

“I disagree,” Castiel said. 

“Yeah, why’s that?” Dean asked. 

“From what you’ve just told me, you’ve raised your own child as well as your brother. Your brother believes you are more qualified than he is to care for his child and called you for that reason,” Castiel said. “You also fixed my niece’s doll even though I’m sure it’s not part of your job description. Not all of the nannies I’ve met with are willing to do that.” 

“That was a test?” Dean asked. 

“It’s Grace’s test,” Castiel said. “She can fix Joan herself, but she prefers whoever is responsible for her during the day to be competent enough to fix the doll or at least compassionate enough to care that the doll was broken. You were both.” 

“Devious kid you’ve got there,” Dean said. 

There was something mirth-like in Castiel’s gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he ushered Dean back to the foyer before handing him a business card. 

_Castiel Engel_  
IRS Headquarters  
Chicago, IL  
312-123-5555  


“Think about it,” Castiel said. 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, okay.” 

He stared at the business card as he trekked back to the van, totally not sure what to think about anything that had just happened. He’d been played by a six year old and offered a job by the most clueless guy he’d ever met. 

He shook his head as he turned the ignition only to hear a faint rap on the driver’s side window. He rolled it down. “Now what?”

“I thought it would be important to mention that you would live here,” Castiel said. 

“Me and Ben?” Dean asked. Because not taking Ben with him was a deal breaker. 

“You and Ben and your spouse,” Castiel said. 

“I don’t have a spouse,” Dean said automatically, even though he was not at all prepared to rehash his complicated relationship with Lisa to a relative stranger. 

“Oh, I simply assumed,” Castiel said. Dean waited for the follow up ‘what happened to Ben’s mom,’ but whether he was curious or not, it didn’t come. “Just you and Ben then.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ben, can you get that?” Dean shouted as the sound of his ringtone trailed into the basement, letting him know his phone was not actually in the pocket of his jeans. He continued his struggle with the washing machine door, prying at it with a kitchen spatula -- the handle, and the wire clothes’ hanger he’d originally tried to replace it with, had broken off so long ago he couldn’t remember ever having opened it another way. 

Ben shouted back who it was right as the door popped opened with a thud. Dean didn’t quite hear him, but he figured it had to be Sam. He’d been playing phone tag with him for the better part of two days, desperately trying to get some feedback about the whole nanny thing. 

“Great. Ask him to help you with that long division nonsense you’ve got,” Dean shouted back as he uncapped the detergent. 

“Really?” Ben replied skeptically. 

“Yes, really. Do your goddamn homework,” Dean shouted. “I’ll be up by the time you brainiacs have something figured out.” 

When Dean set a basket of warm, unfolded towels down on the coffee table five minutes later, he found Ben kneeling against it scribbling out what looked like a zillion numbers, though his current struggle seemed to be against 48989/17. He was glad Sam had the patience and the aptitude for explaining this because he really didn’t. 

He settled into the worn fabric of the couch only to hear a voice that definitely wasn’t his brother’s crackle through the phone, “Prime numbers can be intimidating, if you let them be.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that ... Cas?” 

“I told you it was before,” Ben said. 

“Yeah, well, that machine’s loud,” Dean grumbled as he plucked the phone out of Ben’s hand. 

“Cas? Hey, I didn’t mean to make you do my kid’s homework or anything,” Dean said. 

“It was no trouble, Dean,” Castiel said. “I do frequently work with numbers.” 

“‘Course you do. You’re at the frickin’ IRS,” Dean mumbled. “So what’s up?” 

“You met Grace, but you did not meet Hannah. The other nannies have wished to meet both of the children before choosing whether or not to accept the position.” 

“So you want me to come back?” Dean asked. 

“I could also offer you information about your salary and where you and Ben would stay,” Castiel continued. 

“Did you want to meet Ben too?” Dean asked. 

“I believe I just did,” Castiel said. 

“And, I don’t know, make sure he’s not a gremlin or something?” Dean continued. “He’d be living with your breakables and all.” 

“I don’t think gremlins are typically given math assignments,” Castiel said. Dean couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a joke. 

“Okay...so what? You want to do like joint family dinner or something?” Dean asked. 

“I think that would be a good idea, yes,” Castiel said. 

“So...when were you thinking?” Dean asked. 

“Tomorrow at 6,” Castiel said. 

“There?” Dean asked. 

“Here,” Castiel agreed. Then, without so much as a goodbye, he hung up. 

“Don’t invite Paul over tomorrow,” Dean said to Ben. “We’ve got invitations to the castle.” 

“You’re not going to call it that if we actually live there, right?” Ben asked. 

Dean flicked Ben’s hair with a towel before beginning to fold it. “Finish your homework.” 

XXX 

“There’s got to be a catch here, Sammy,” Dean said when he finally managed to get in touch with him, after round three of checking that Ben wasn’t using a flashlight to read Batman under his covers. “No one just asks you and your kid to move into their mansion and offers you a _salary._ Dude, with the jobs I’ve had, I’m not even sure I’ve heard the word salary. You think maybe the other kid drove all the old nannies away or something?” 

“Didn’t this Cas guy say he’s been hiring a new one every year?” Sam asked. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. 

“Then I doubt it’s a kid making them leave,” Sam said. “A lot of people quit jobs after a year. It’s just like an experience thing.” 

“Okay... so, let’s say everything seems up to snuff, there’s no demon child or anything, you think I should really think about this?” Dean asked. 

“I think if you’re asking me about it, you already are,” Sam said. “So call me back when you actually know what you’re getting into. I’ve got to go feed Sammy before he wakes Jess back up.” 

“Really not calling him Junior, huh?” Dean asked, mostly because he knew it would piss Sam off. 

“Yeah, and we’re not going to,” Sam said with an irritated huff. Dean was sure he was rolling his eyes. 

“I can’t keep calling you both the same thing,” Dean whined. 

“Yeah, Dean, you can,” Sam said before the line abruptly disconnected. 

Dean huffed, knowing he’d been hung up on. He immediately texted Sam. _Bitch_

 _Jerk_

XXX 

The next day found Dean hesitating a few feet away from an open checkout lane while Ben gazed longingly at the M&Ms. The cashier huffed and rolled her eyes before beginning to spray her conveyor belt down with industrial cleaning solution. 

“Just get them both, Dad,” Ben insisted as Dean inspected the cheap bottle of red wine and boxed apple pie for the umpteenth time. Neither felt like appropriate offerings, but he hadn’t had time to bake and the good stuff wasn’t in his budget. “We’re gonna be late, and I’m starving.” 

Dean ignored Ben’s advice and lifted the wine bottle up again. “Soda, maybe? Not like you and the other kids are going to drink this stuff anyway. There something you want?” 

“Yeah, dinner,” Ben said rolling his eyes as he started back towards the aisles. 

“Everyone likes Coke, right?” Dean asked, handing the wine bottle back to the cashier with a winsome smirk. She took it with a sigh and shook her head. He turned to follow Ben. 

He found him halfway down the soft drink aisle, holding a two liter of regular Coke in one hand and Diet Coke in the other. Dean took one of the bottles with his free hand as Ben asked, “Why is this such a big deal?” 

“It’s not,” Dean said, turning back for the front of the store. 

“Yeah, it is,” Ben said as he jogged in front of Dean and headed towards the self-checkout. “You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” Dean insisted, pulling out his wallet. “It’s not.” 

“Dad, come on. I know it is,” Ben said. “So tell me.” 

“Okay, fine. You got me,” Dean said. “I do this, we’re on the other side of town, so closer to Uncle Sam and Aunt Jess, you get away from that stupid school of yours, and I stop driving the crappy cable van. Everyone wins. So maybe Cas doesn’t give a hoot if I show up empty handed, but I don’t want to give him a reason to change his mind if I don’t, alright?” 

“Alright. I’ll try not to give him a reason too,” Ben agreed. He frowned contemplatively before adding, “You won’t lose another job because of me.” 

“Because of you...?” Dean nearly dropped the pie before setting it down on the self-check. He crouched down and gripped Ben’s shoulders. “Hey, you listen to me, that was not your fault. Nothing that happened with the garage was your fault. Don’t you dare go thinking it was, alright? And any of this gets screwed up, it’s on me, not you. You got that?” 

Ben nodded, turned around, and started pulling the groceries over the scanner. 

“Ben,” Dean said as he swiped his credit card through the reader, “you got that?” 

“Yeah, got it,” Ben said. 

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face as they walked out of the store wondering how exactly he was supposed to help raise other people’s kids when he was doing such a bang up job with his own. 

XXX 

“The third thing has broken,” Castiel greeted ominously, pulling the door open before Dean could even think about knocking. “Dinner is not ready.” 

“Okay,” Dean said raising an eyebrow as Cas pulled the pie and soda from his hands. “That’s cool. Something go kaput in the kitchen or something?” 

A thin thread of smoke, as though in response, trailed into the hallway. 

Dean immediately switched gears. “Ben, go wait by the car. Cas, where are your girls?” 

“I believe Grace is pretending to be a knight on the playset in the backyard, though she may be a princess this time. I’m never certain. Hannah is doing her homework there as well,” Castiel said thoughtfully, ignoring Dean’s increasingly insistent glare. “Why?” 

“Why? Uh, I don’t know, Cas, because your house might BE ON FIRE,” Dean said. 

“Oh.” Castiel looked up and gave the smoke a slightly bemused and thoroughly unconcerned glance. “It’s not. Mr. Crowley is simply learning a lesson about improperly cleaned ovens.” 

“Well, sorry if I don’t just take your word for that,” Dean said as he pushed Castiel out the door after Ben. 

Castiel tripped down the two steps from the porch, dropping the soda and pie in the process. The former proceeded to fizz and explode across Castiel’s suit and the driveway, while the latter crumbled into the spill. 

Dean just barely saw Ben helping Castiel, who was regarding his surroundings with a slightly surprised but mostly curious head tilt, up before running towards the smoke. 

It led him closer and closer to the sound of clattering pans and a distinctly British accent muttering a continual string of, “Bloody hell.” 

Once he was standing two feet from the double stacked ovens in Castiel’s kitchen, Dean reluctantly had to admit that the smoke really was merely symptomatic of a shoddy cleaning job. 

He batted at it until he clearly saw a short, scruffy faced man wearing a kiss-the-cook apron violently throwing a variety of metal cookware out of a cabinet and across the linoleum. 

“Uh, need some help there, buddy?” Dean asked. 

“Ah. The cat dragged in fresh meat,” the man said, immediately pulling himself up and brushing at his apron before raking his eyes lasciviously over Dean. “I see dear ol’ Cas went more lumberjack than Sadie Hawkins this time.” 

“Excuse me?” Dean said, hoping to god that this sleazy, temper-tantrum throwing, grown-ass man wasn’t Castiel’s butler. 

The man waved his hand dismissively. “Not that I give a rat’s ass, of course. You’re not on my dime.” 

"Tell me you ain't Crowley," Dean said. 

“Ding, ding, ding,“ Crowley said, as he applauded mockingly. “Somebody get the boy a prize.” 

“‘The hell did Cas even find you?” Dean asked, part of him thinking that, had the house really been on fire, maybe leaving the guy here wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. 

“Terrible business showing you my cards so early in our partnership,” Crowley said. 

“Partnership?” Dean repeated doubtfully. “Dude, I met you like two minutes ago, and I already ain’t gunning for one.” 

“Pity,” Crowley said, reaching for a copper bottomed sauce pan. “However, we may soon be sharing living quarters, and I expect you like being fed. So I recommend you hand me those frozen grease pies.” 

Dean glanced at the bag of frozen hamburger sitting on the island counter then back at the saucepan. “You know you can’t make burgers like that, right?” 

“You have a better idea?” Crowley asked doubtfully. 

“Matter of fact, yeah,” Dean said as he picked up a cast iron skillet from the collection on the floor and set it on the stove. Shortly after, he was too engrossed in looking for spices to notice Crowley slithering from the room. 

When, fifteen minutes later, a now casually dressed Castiel led Ben, Grace, and an unfamiliar older girl through the kitchen and instructed them to sit around the dining room table, Dean, still dutifully standing at the stove, with Crowley no where in sight, realized he’d been had. 

Castiel returned to the kitchen and moved unnecessarily close to Dean before needlessly informing him, “The house appears to still be structurally sound. I brought the children back inside.” 

Dean nodded as he carefully measured out another handful of seasoning. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that and, uh, about your suit,” he mumbled as he gestured aimlessly, “I, uh, I take fires kind of seriously.” 

“Yes. Ben informed me about the death of your mother,” Castiel said. 

Dean nodded again, turned back towards the steaming skillet, and started to flip the burgers. “Think I owe you a pie or something too.” 

“I believe these hamburgers will suffice as a gift of hospitality,” Castiel said. Then, somehow, leaning in even closer he said, “There is a reason that Mr. Crowley is not cooking them?” 

“Doesn’t know how to make ‘em right,” Dean said, trying to shoulder Cas out of his personal space. “Least I didn’t think he did.” 

“He has successfully made them before,” Castiel said, not really taking the hint to move and squinting at the stove. “His methods do not appear to be significantly different than yours.” 

“That right?” Dean asked, quirking an eye. Now he knew he’d been duped. 

“He may use more salt,” Castiel said, squinting even harder at the stove, like he was determined to tell Dean the exact differences. 

“Dude, you gotta move before I burn you,” Dean said, shooing Cas back to the dining room with his spatula. 

XXX

Dinner itself, considering what preceded it, was a remarkably uneventful affair.

It turned out that, before their parents had died, Grace and Hannah had also lived on the other side of town, and Hannah had attended what was currently Ben’s school. The two were already thick as thieves bemoaning it before beginning an elaborate Superman versus Batman debate. 

Dean, meanwhile, was trying not to get involved in said debate as Cas alternated between listing Dean’s forthcoming duties as nanny and encouraging Grace to eat her food -- if the evidence wasn’t right in front of him, Dean never would have guessed a kid wouldn’t eat a hamburger. 

Then, once the dishes had been cleared from the table, Hannah led Ben up to her room to play with a new video game as Grace trailed after them insisting she wanted to play too. So, if nothing else, Dean knew the kids were going to get along just fine. 

“So guess that leaves you to be my tour guide, huh?” Dean said to Castiel as he put the last of the plates on the kitchen sink. 

“Of the house?” Castiel asked. 

“No, of the Starship Enterprise,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m not familiar with that,” Castiel said. "Is it in Chicago?

Dean stared at Cas for a full thirty seconds, refusing to dignify that with a reply. "Yes, of the house, Cas." 

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Follow me then.” 

He led Dean, who was trying, and failing, to not outright stare at everything, through a series of corridors that he felt certain had to contain a secret passageway or three before stopping behind a closed door Dean would have otherwise assumed was a closet. 

It turned out to contain a winding staircase that likely headed for the turret on the far side of the house. 

As they began climbing up it, Castiel explained that since he’d inherited the house, and the generation prior had been considerably larger, much of the house, especially on this side, was left unused. 

“Your family never drops in for like holidays and stuff?” Dean asked. Cas tensed, and he knew immediately it was the wrong question. 

“No,” Castiel said shortly before gesturing for Dean to keep following him. Then, after what appeared to be careful consideration, he offered, “My brother Gabriel does occasionally come here unexpectedly and unannounced. I believe he enjoys being irksome.” 

Dean snorted, sensing that Castiel found Gabriel about as irksome as he found Sam, which was to say a brotherly amount. 

“The children are unreasonably fond of him,” Castiel added, which only confirmed Dean’s theory. 

Once they reached the top of the turret, Castiel moved towards the window seat. “I do not come up here as often as I would like, but this is my favorite part of the house.” 

Dean glanced out the window himself and saw why. Beyond Castiel’s decently sized backyard, there was a small pond followed by a beautiful expanse of wooded area. 

“That’s a great view,” Dean whistled as he pulled back. 

Castiel’s lips drew together in what might have been a smile before showing Dean to the turret’s other door, pulling him into another confusing maze of corridors and staircases. 

By the time Castiel announced that the rooms beside him would be his and Ben’s, Dean had sort of lost track of where they were. 

Nevertheless, Dean cracked the first door open, revealing a room that was more spacious than any bedroom in his own house. “So, who’s is who’s?” 

“That is up to you,” Castiel said. “They are similarly sized and furnished, but one of them has, uh, I believe Crowley told me it’s called a “Jack and Jill” bathroom?” 

“Okay.” Dean frowned. “So?” 

“It is attached to my bedroom. One of you will share a bathroom with me,” Castiel said. “Unless you would prefer I move you to another hallway, but you would be further away from the girls there.” 

“It’s cool, Cas,” Dean said, clapping his hand around his shoulder. “We can be teeth brushing buddies.” 

Dean tried not to overthink what else that would entail.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I falsely gave you guys the impression I knew what I was doing...Charlie wasn't actually supposed to be here at all. Now she is. Enjoy, I guess. 
> 
> Hopefully Crowley will appear again next chapter...and there will be more Cas than mention of Cas. These are my goals, but I promise nothing.

“Guess that’s it,” Dean said, shouldering his duffel bag as he flicked the kitchen light off. He followed Sam and Ben, who were also sporting bags brimming over with clothes and toiletries, towards the Impala. 

As he did, he looked back wistfully at the small, sturdy Cape Cod, filled with an odd, irrational sense of loss. It wasn’t like he was selling the place. Hell, they weren’t even taking the furniture. 

“Yeah, until you call me up tomorrow or next weekend asking for help with everything you forgot you actually need,” Sam said. “You’re so going to owe me.” 

“Hey, I helped you and Jess move. Twice,” Dean said. 

“And I helped you move in and out with Lisa,” Sam countered, his voice faltering on Lisa’s name. “Hey, she does know you’re doing this, right?” 

“‘Course she does,” Dean said. “I wasn’t going to just stick a note on the door saying I went to play au pair at a stranger’s mansion and took our kid. Just cause she isn’t here doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what’s going on.” 

“Okay,” Sam said. “That’s good. I guess.” 

“Mom thinks you’re going to be good at this,” Ben offered, as he tossed his duffel bag in the trunk next to Dean’s. 

Dean huffed lightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Probably because of me,” Ben said. 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I guess you turned out okay. Not really sure what I had to do with it.” 

“Then what did?” Sam asked, sinking into the passenger side. 

“Yeah, Dad, what?” Ben added as he climbed in the backseat. 

“I’m going to give most of the credit to your mom, a lot of it to Bobby, a little to Jess and Sammy here, and maybe even some to that weird gangly neighbor guy you go visit all the time -- what’s his name? Garth?” Dean said. 

“Hey, you like Garth,” Ben said. 

“Didn’t say I didn’t,” Dean said. “Just said he was weird.” 

“So’s Cas,” Ben said. 

Dean paused, resting his hand over the keys he’d just put in the ignition. “Different weird.” 

Sam turned towards him with a frustratingly knowing and concerned look. A look that clearly said _you like this guy, don’t you?_ “Weird how?” 

“He’s, uh, kind of serious,” Dean said. 

“Serious?” Sam said, brows raised. “And _you_ want to work for the guy?” 

“Hey, I’m... I can be serious,” Dean said. 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said skeptically. 

“Shut up,” Dean muttered into the steering wheel before putting the car in reverse. 

XXX 

“You really weren’t kidding about how big this place was,” Sam said, marveling as Dean pulled up the driveway. 

“You think I was?” Dean asked. 

“No, just... I wasn’t expecting this,” Sam said, waving past the house’s facade. 

“Well, that makes two of us, I guess,” Dean said as he put the car in park. “So let’s get lugging and try not to get lost.” 

“Lost? Really?” Sam said. 

“There’s like a million hallways in there,” Dean said, hopping out of the car. 

“I almost got lost trying to find Dad and Cas the other day,” Ben added in Dean’s defense. 

“See? It’s like a maze,” Dean said as he opened the trunk. 

“It does become less difficult to navigate with time,” Castiel offered from somewhere past Dean’s shoulder, his unexpected contribution jarring Dean’s duffel bag onto the ground. 

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean said as he reached down to pick up articles of clothing that had fallen out of the unzipped bag. “Where the hell did you come from?” 

“I live here, Dean,” Castiel said as he offered Dean a pair of dropped boxers. “I came from the house.” 

“Doesn’t mean you have the right to sneak up on people,” Dean muttered, wincing as he took the comic book pattern boxers that Ben had gotten him for Father’s Day. 

Sam skirted around the front of the car, smirking at Dean’s plight. “Hey, Cas. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sam.” 

He extended his hand, and Cas took it carefully. “You are Dean’s brother?” 

“Yep. Unfortunately,” Sam said. 

“Why is that unfortunate?” Castiel said. 

Sam raised his eyes at Dean _Is he for real?._ Dean nodded. 

“It’s not actually unfortunate. I’m just joking,” Sam said. “Dean’s a great brother. Really.” 

“Oh, I understand,” Castiel said, though he still looked mildly bewildered. “Gabriel, my brother, has said similarly deprecating things about me. I had always assumed he meant them genuinely.” 

“Oh,” Sam said, turning back to Dean for help he couldn’t offer. “That’s, uh...I’m sorry.” 

Dean, deciding that was a can of worms best left for later, said, “So, Cas, can Ben and I make ourselves at home or do you need to, uh, I don’t know, supervise?”

“I will guide you back to your rooms, then, yes, you can ‘make yourselves at home’,” Castiel said. “I have office business I need to attend to elsewhere.” 

“You’ve got the golden nine to five, and you still work on the weekend?” Dean asked. 

“The paperwork of tax audits can be very time consuming,” Castiel said. 

“Tax audits? God. I think I signed up to work for the devil,” Dean said.

“I’m named after an angel,” Castiel said edigly. 

“That right? So Heaven’s rigged the tax game? I feel like that explains some things,” Dean said teasingly, admiring the look of utter offense on Cas’ face. “Well, lead the way, Cas.” 

Castiel led them back upstairs, explaining that both Crowley and his previous nanny, Charlie, were there if they happened to need help with anything, but he himself would be working in his upstairs office, to which he provided no further direction, before disappearing into a mysterious and distant part of the house. 

Afterwards, Dean and Ben made some vague pretense of being organized people by designating certain dresser drawers for Ben’s shirts and socks as Sam sat on his freshly made bed scowling as he pulled more and more unfolded clothes out of a duffel bag. Then, having left Ben to organize his games and school supplies on his own, Dean found himself kneeling in front of his new dresser as Sam despairingly held aloft another unmatched sock, “Ben I get. But Dean, really?” 

“Long as I can find ‘em, what difference does it make?” Dean asked. 

“Live like a caveman then,” Sam said, rolling his eyes before upturning the entire duffel bag onto Dean’s bed. “At least I don’t share living space with you anymore.” 

Dean, because he would have emptied the duffel bag himself at the beginning of this, started shoveling his clothes into the open drawers by the handful. As he did, Sam asked, “Dean, do you really think this is a good idea?” 

“I’ve been a slob my whole life, Sammy,” Dean protested. “Not going to change now.” 

“Not that,” Sam said rolling his eyes. “Living here, working here.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t it be?” Dean asked. “You didn’t come up with anything to stop me when I asked you about this last week.” 

“I didn’t realize you had a crush on Cas last week,” Sam said. “Though I probably should have.” 

“What?” Dean repeated. “I don’t...I do not.” 

Sam gave him a doubtful, this is bullshit and I know it look. “Dean.” 

“Okay, so, I might possibly think my new boss is kind of attractive in a dorky sort of way,” Dean said. “But it’s... it’s not like I’m planning on playing tonsil hockey with him. I’m a professional.” 

“How would you know?” Sam said. “You’ve never been a nanny before.” 

“I was your nanny,” Dean said. 

“Before you were ten,” Sam countered. “Look, I’m just saying, you need to be careful. You’re sharing a bathroom with the guy who’s giving you your paycheck, and you’re into him. There are a lot of ways this could not end well.” 

“So don’t bone the boss. Got it,” Dean said. 

“You should totally bone the boss,” a red-headed woman that was about Dean’s age leaned casually against the door as she licked yogurt off a spoon. “He needs to get laid.” 

“Uh, hi,” Dean said. “Who the hell you are?” 

“Charlie,” she said as she plopped down on Dean’s bed next to Sam. “The girl whose shoes you’re filling. Cas wanted me to give you the run-down on things, and he kind of needed someone to watch the girls while you moved in.” 

“Which you’re doing right now?” Dean asked. 

“They’re in your kid’s room looking through his stuff,” Charlie said as she placed her spoon back into the yogurt container and stirred. “He’s got decent taste in video games.” 

“‘Course he does,” Dean said, though, truthfully, he wasn’t totally aware of what was going on in the world of video games. 

“Going to have to add Moondoor to his collection in a few months,” Charlie said. 

“Moondoor?” Sam asked. 

“It’s a game I’m working on developing. Mostly why I quit. Because seriously, this is a great gig. Well... as long as you pretend Crowley doesn’t exist,” Charlie said. 

“Yeah. Sounded like Dean got off on the wrong foot with him,” Sam said slowly, glancing at Dean, _Should I really bring this up?_ who nodded. “What’s his deal?” 

“You ask me,” Charlie said, lowering her voice dramatically, “he’s up to something.” 

“Like what?” Sam asked. 

“Probably after Cas’ fortune or something. You know, the usual,” Charlie said. 

“And assuming that Crowley isn’t actually the villain in a five and dime mystery novel?” Dean said. 

“Oh, then he’s just a snobby dick who doesn’t do his job,” Charlie said. “Anything else you want to know about working here? Like, say, what Cas likes in a man?” 

“You know that?” Sam asked. 

“No, not really,” Charlie said. “I just want to see the boss man get some action. He’s nice enough, but he’s wound a little tight, works too much. Pretty sure he _is_ into dudes though.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” Dean asked, trying to act as though the answer did not matter to him in the least. Because it couldn’t. Sam was right; even harmless flirting probably wasn’t such a good idea here. 

“He’s never brought anyone home, so maybe I’m wrong. Nothing to judge really,” Charlie said as she twirled her spoon. “But there’s an incredibly attractive woman who comes over here pretty regularly that he never spares a glance.” 

“You feeling slighted here or something?” Dean asked. 

“Not even a little,” Charlie said. “I’m talking about my girlfriend.” 

“Oh,” Dean said as his eyes widened in surprise.

“She’s the other reason I quit,” Charlie said. 

“Because you were dating her?” Sam asked, frowning slightly, clearly miffed about why that would bother a guy she thought was gay. 

“What?” Charlie said. “Oh, no! Not sure what way Cas swings, but he definitely doesn’t care what way I swing. He’s known about Dorothy from the get-go. But we’re moving in together, and, just, don’t want to have to worry about hanging socks on our door, you know?” 

“Not sure he’d even get a sock on the door,” Dean said. 

Charlie snickered. “Exactly. So... total subject change here, but did you want me to show you the girls’ rooms while I tell you the tricks of the trade or something? I think that’s really what Cas wanted me to do.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said. 

As they walked down the full length of the hall to Hannah’s room, Charlie pointed out at least three doors she had once suspected of being possible secret passageways and claimed that she needed to return if for no other reason than to prove that at least one existed in the house. Dean outwardly nodded nonchalantly as he privately fervently agreed, partially because one of them absolutely had to be and partially because he really liked Charlie. 

Once outside Hannah’s room, they found Ben, Hannah, and Grace sitting in a circle surrounded by classic board games, currently in the middle of Sorry! 

Grace was frowning over a card Hannah was helping her read before huffily returning one of her pieces to start. Ben was twiddling one of his pieces between his thumb and forefinger as he waited for his turn. All three of them looked up slowly at the sound of the adults in the doorway. 

Grace immediately lit up when she caught sight of Dean. “Ben says you want to kiss Uncle Cas.” 

She then gestured around the circle, “We think it's a good idea.” 

“Grace!” Hannah admonished. “We told you not to say anything.” 

Dean gave Ben a long, hard look to which Ben’s only reply was a half-hearted _well, don’t you?_ shrug. 

“Look, kids,” Dean said, with a decidedly unamused frowned, “that’s cute and all. But I’m just working here. There is absolutely nothing going on between me and your Uncle Cas. And absolutely nothing is going to go on. So drop it.” 

Charlie, who had been giggling unapologetically, stopped abruptly and asked innocently, “So, guys, you want to watch a movie? I think my DVD collection’s still downstairs.” 

“What movie?” Hannah asked. “Not _Lord of the Rings_ again. We’ve watched it too many times.” 

“First of all, you can’t watch _Lord of the Rings_ too many times, no matter what Dorothy says. Second of all, no. A new one, _The Parent Trap_ ,” Charlie said as she admired the look of pure horror that crossed Dean’s face. 

“We’ll go look for it then,” Hannah said brightly. “They’re still in the top drawer right?” 

“Yep,” Charlie said. Then as the kids darted past her and Dean, she said, “I’ll make devious little matchmakers out of them yet.” 

“Thanks,” Dean said. "Thanks a lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/6/14: I just moved and started working full time-ish after being unemployed all summer... so progress is slow but I swear I'm working on this (and like five other things because I having the writing attention span of a squirrel...)


	4. Chapter 4

When a light knock sounded against his bedroom door, Dean covered his face with his pillow and briefly considered death by smothering. He really wasn’t up for going on another wild goose chase -- though he had to admit that Cas asking, in complete sincerity, why anyone would chase a wild goose had kind of made his night. 

Ultimately deciding, however, that neither another poorly executed matchmaking attempt, spurred by Charlie’s endless and not particularly subtle hints, nor Grace’s apparent refusal to acknowledge bedtime truly warranted it, he rolled off his bed. 

"You’re not conning me into Curious George Take 3,” Dean muttered as he pulled a robe on over his boxers. “And you’re not getting Ben or Hannah to do it either. Grace, it’s a school night.” 

He pulled back his bedroom door and blinked against the dim light from the hall, only to find Cas, still wearing his work clothes, standing a foot away from him, with his arms resting stiffly at his sides. “The door to my room is locked. Another practical joke of the children’s, I assume.” 

“Oh. Uh...” Dean said, briefly pressing his hand against his temple, trying not to let on how jarred he was by Cas’ sudden appearance. “Need a lock-picking lesson?” 

"I believe letting me go through your room to the bathroom will be sufficient," Castiel said.

“Sort of a temporary solution, don’t you think?” Dean asked. “The kids are probably going to do this again. You know that, right?” 

After brief contemplation, Castiel said, "They have been very persistent these past two weeks. But perhaps another time. It has been a long day. I would like to go to bed.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, continuing to lean against the doorframe, as he tried to quell his irrational disappointment, oblivious to the fact that he was completely blocking Cas’ path into his bedroom. 

"You will need to move," Castiel said, as he raised his eyes at Dean. 

"Right, sure thing," Dean said as he sheepishly stepped back -- straight into his standing lamp. 

He mumbled a string of curses, not quite under his breath, as Cas flicked on the light. He shielded his eyes with one hand and rubbed at his now throbbing knee with the other. 

Castiel knelt down next to him and looked him over with an unnecessary and disconcerting degree of concern. "Are you alright, Dean?" 

Dean bristled and waved him off. "I tripped, Cas. Think I'll live." 

"At least allow me to help you up," Castiel said as he offered Dean his hand. 

Dean rolled his eyes but still took it. 

He winced the moment he put weight on his knee. It wasn’t anything serious, nothing a few hours of sleep couldn't cure, but Cas saw the wince and did the last thing Dean wanted him to do -- fretted about it. 

"Should I...should I call a doctor?" Castiel asked, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. 

"God, no," Dean said. "That’s the last thing I need. Really, I'm fine."

"I will still help you back to bed," Castiel said as he gripped Dean's shoulders and steered him towards it. 

“Dude, I can walk. Let go of me,” Dean said, roughly shaking Cas off his back. "Jesus.” 

Cas, looking unfairly like a kicked puppy, stalked into the bathroom and slowly shut the door. Dean stared at it for a full minute before briefly slapping his hand over his eyes and hobbling towards the bathroom. “Christ. Cas, wait.” 

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel asked stiffly from the sink, toothbrush already in hand. 

"I...uh. I wasn't trying to get rid of you. Just not great with, uh..." Dean trailed off uncertainly. 

"Vulnerability?" Castiel suggested as he slowly squeezed toothpaste out. 

"Uh, I guess," Dean said, rubbing at his neck. "Just... kind of used to taking care of other people, you know? And not really so sure about other people doing it for me. Especially when they don’t really need to. And...well, bottom line here, I don't like being babied." 

At this, Cas gave him a strange not quite smile around his toothbrush before rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He found a bottle of painkillers and set it on the sink without a word.

Dean stared at him as he spit water and toothpaste back into the sink. He caught Dean's eye in the mirror when he looked back up before saying, "Goodnight, Dean," and leaving the bathroom. 

XXX 

The next morning found Dean spreading peanut butter and banana slices over whole wheat bread trying not to think about the slight ache in his knee or the way Cas brushed his teeth. 

As he scraped the banana peels off the counter and into the garbage, an unwanted distraction in the form of Crowley appeared next to the coffee maker. He grinned impishly as he poured two mugs. “Late night? Heard something go bump in it.” He set the coffee pot back on the counter before crossing to Dean. “The little ones already have you and the master of the house doing the horizontal tango?” 

“Got in a fight with a lamp, actually,” Dean said as Crowley pushed a mug towards him. He didn’t reach for it. “What’s it to you?” 

“Leverage,” Crowley said. “And, I’m touched you think so highly of me, but that cup of Joe’s not poisoned.” 

“And I’m not sleeping with Cas,” Dean stifled a yawn as he recapped the peanut butter. “You don’t have any leverage.” 

“Perhaps not,” Crowley said. “But now I know watching you two lovebirds skirt around each other will be quality entertainment the next time the cable’s out." 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have something else to do? Fire to stoke? Pitchfork to polish?” 

Crowley sneered. “If I ruled Hell, it would involve a little less fire and brimstone than you imagine. More bureaucracy.” 

“Well, as swell as hearing plans for your imaginary hell-dom sounds,” Dean said as he turned for the door, “I got a job to do.” 

Crowley moved into the doorframe to block it and held up his hand. “I may not have a throne in Hell -- some plans really are best left for death -- but I am an underground ruler of sorts.” 

Dean raised his eyes. “So you’ve got a scepter in the basement? Good for you. I’m waking the kids.” 

Deciding to pretend, for the moment, that that wasn’t weird, Dean jogged up the steps to the kids’ rooms. 

XXX 

_Houston, we’ve got a problem._ Dean texted Sam as he watched Hannah and Ben’s backpacks disappear into a sea of other children and took a bite of his breakfast sandwich -- the breakfast sandwich he had waited to make until Crowley had disappeared from the kitchen, and, as far as Dean could tell, the house. 

_You mean you have a Cas problem?_ Sam sent back. 

_This isn’t about Cas._ Dean replied before glancing in the rearview mirror. Grace was still guzzling a juice box and holding her backpack to her side. _You busy later?_

_I’m going to take an early lunch. Want me to call you?_

_Yeah, that’ll work._

“So, Cas, huh?” Sam asked as soon as Dean answered his phone. 

“Really not about that, Sam,” Dean rubbed at his forehead as he ducked back into the Impala. “I think Charlie was right.” 

“About you and Cas?” Sam snickered. 

“You’re like a dog with a bone. Jesus, Sammy. Let it go,” Dean said. “My problem’s with Crowley. The guy as good as told me he was up to something. Said he was an underground ruler. Who says stuff like that?” 

“Really?” Sam said. “Huh.” 

“Huh?” Dean echoed. “I live with a guy that dreams about ruling Hell, and all you’ve got is ‘huh’?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Sam asked. “It’s not like I know what he’s doing. And saying he’s a ruler is definitely kind of weird, but it’s not exactly illegal... he didn’t say what he was doing, right?” 

“Didn’t really give him the chance,” Dean said. “Can’t get involved in crap like that. You know that. I got a kid to raise.” 

“Yeah, Dean, I know,” Sam said, “but, what if he’s doing whatever he’s doing there?” 

“You mean in the house?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah, in the house. That could be a problem. So maybe keep an eye out?” Sam said. “For your sake and the kids’ sakes...and Cas’ sake.” 

“Oh for the love of...next time I see you, I’m going to knock you into next Sunday,” Dean said. 

“Dean, I’m serious,” Sam said. “If Crowley’s doing something under his roof, Cas has the right to know about it.” 

“Okay, okay, fine,” Dean muttered. “Well, I’ve got to go. Duty calls.” 

“Kindergarten’s over, huh?” Sam asked. 

“Yep,” Dean said. “And Grace promised me some high quality fingerpainting.” 

XXX 

“Well, how about leftover pizza for lunch, Gracie?” Dean asked as he hung her painting of Joan between Ben’s B+ English essay and Hannah’s soccer practice schedule. 

“That sounds practical,” Cas’ voice was followed by the sound of paper rustling as he set his briefcase against the counter before leaning down to tentatively offer Grace a fistbump. “I will have a slice as well.” 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said as he ducked into the refrigerator, for reasons he wasn’t particularly interested in evaluating. “You’re home awfully early.” 

"I came home for lunch. Work was ... work was...I’m a terrible liar,” Cas shook his head before giving Dean a thorough once over. “How are you, Dean?” 

"Tell you not to baby me, and you come to check on me,” Dean shook his head in disbelief and feigned annoyance. Because if anything, loath as he was to admit it, he was kind of touched. 

And worried. 

Because that thing that he kept saying wasn’t a problem? Well, it might be a problem. 

"You were limping," Cas said pointedly. 

"Yeah, well, you were hovering," Dean said. 

An incredibly gigantic problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/6/15: I currently have every intention of finishing this, but I make no promises as to when.

**Author's Note:**

> [catalogercas](http://catalogercas.tumblr.com)


End file.
